


One More Kiss

by profdanglais



Series: Secret Things [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Forbidden Love, Lieutenant Duckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Another angsty secret love drabble, this one Lieutenant Duckling.They want to be together, but the princess cannot marry the lieutenant. Emma is determined but Killian is noble. Heartbreak ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

The Chancellor of the Exchequer droned on and on, something about taxes and grain imports and Princess Emma fought to keep her eyelids from drooping. She knew trade and taxes were important but she had read every brief on the subject diligently, which she felt really should exempt her from having to sit through a lecture on it as well, especially as there was something about the Exchequer’s voice that just made her eyes cross. The sharp rap of a pointed shoe against her ankle jolted her into full consciousness and she turned to glare at her mother. 

“Pay. Attention.” hissed Snow out of the corner of her mouth. 

“I am,” Emma hissed back. “Grain imports. I’m riveted.” 

“We will hear now from the representative of our Royal Navy,” said King David, loudly to drown out the voices of his wife and daughter. “Lieutenant Jones?” 

_What?_ Emma’s wandering attention snapped into sharp focus. When had _he_ arrived? 

A tall, dark haired figure rose from where he had been seated in the back of the room and approached the council table. “Your Majesties,” he said in his deep voice, bowing to the king and queen. “Your Highness.” The bow was for Emma now, but he didn’t look at her, instead snapping smartly into formal military attention, his eyes focused straight ahead.

She ground her teeth. So that was how he wanted to play this. 

“What have you to report, Lieutenant?” asked the King. 

“Your Majesty, the _Jewel of the Realm_ has successfully completed her mission to the Southern Isles. Your message was conveyed and the terms accepted. They will deliver four shiploads of grain before the winter.” 

A sigh of relief rippled through the room. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant, those are excellent tidings indeed.” The hearty approval in her father’s voice made Emma want to tear at something. 

“So what took you so long?” she heard herself saying. 

“Emma!” hissed Snow. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?” said Lieutenant Jones, all icy formality. His hair was far too tidy, thought Emma. It looked wrong.

“You’ve been gone nearly a year,” she said, ignoring the toe of her mother’s shoe. “The Southern Isles aren’t that far away. What took you so long?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was expected to provide an accounting for every detail of our voyage,” he replied. “Merely the outcome of the grain agreement.” 

“Your report is more than sufficient, Lieutenant,” said David. “I thank you for it, and I hope we will see you and your brother at the ball tonight.” 

“Aye, Your Majesty, you shall indeed. It will be our honour to attend.” 

“Excellent.” 

Lieutenant Jones executed another flawless formal bow and retreated back into the crowds at the rear of the room. Not once had he looked at her. 

Emma dug her fingernails into the skin of her arm as her father called for the report from the Forestry Commission. 

\---

Emma stifled a sigh as another dull lord bowed over her hand and begged the honour of a dance with her. She wanted to refuse, but the stiffness in the shoulders of the dark haired man across the room who was Not Watching Her spurred her to accept. 

Two hours into the ball and he was still Not Watching Her. _Damn_ him. 

She laughed as she twirled in the arms of Lord-- Hedley, was it? Hadley? Hinkley? Something beginning with H-- making sure it was a bright and happy laugh, loud enough to carry to the farthest reaches of the ballroom. 

Lord H looked delighted, but Emma barely noticed. Her attention was caught and held by the lieutenant of Misthaven’s finest naval vessel, decked out in full dress uniform, medals and all, striding unceremoniously across the ballroom and towards the doors. 

“Princess Emma,” gasped Lord H, red and breathless from the vigorous dance, “Dare I hope that this, er, _enthusiasm_ on your part might encourage me to hope that some day--” 

“I do apologise Lord, um, Hastings,” interrupted Emma. “I’m afraid I have to go.” 

“I’m Lord _Halford._ ” 

“Are you?” said Emma absently. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled herself from the man’s sweaty grasp and fled the ballroom. 

\---

She caught up with him in the vestibule of the Great Stairwell. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded. 

“Leaving.” He spat the word, his voice harsh. 

She refused to feel hurt, refused to acknowledge it. “Why?”

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” he retorted, not answering her question. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you seemed thoroughly occupied by your horde of very proper suitors.” 

“Thoroughly _bored_ , you mean.” 

His lips twitched but he did not smile. Her heart ached with the desire to see him smile, as he had so easily before. 

“ _You_ could dance with me,” she ventured, and his face hardened. 

“No.” 

“But we used to--” 

“We used to be friends, Emma,” he snapped. “I thought we were friends.” 

“ _Friends,_ ” she choked, frustration and chagrin and longing bubbling together in her chest and turning to fury. “No, we are most definitely not friends.” 

“I see.” He was stiff again, turning on his heel with military precision and marching off. 

“Killian!” she ran after him, caught his arm. He went rigid and hissed out a breath, but didn’t pull away. “You know we’re not friends,” she snapped. “Not after-- you know.” 

“Indeed I do. But that was--” 

“A one-time thing, yes, so you said.” She could still feel the heartbreak. 

“You agreed to forget about it,” he said roughly. “To keep things as they were.” 

“Well, I can’t forget about it. I think about it every damned day. I want to do it again. I want to do a hell of a lot more.” 

“Emma--” 

“I love you, Killian.” 

He did pull away then, turning his back on her. “You don’t,” he said flatly.

Frustration overwhelmed her. “You dare to tell me how I feel!” 

“Begging your most gracious pardon, _Princess,_ ” he hissed, spinning around. “But I have no interest in being your plaything.” 

“What?”

“You’re bored,” he said silkily, advancing on her, backing her against the wall. “You admitted it yourself. Your suitors bore you. Hell, they would bore anyone. Your future bores you-- running a country is far less interesting than many think. It’s all trade agreements and taxes, and you could barely stay awake during the Exchequer’s report this afternoon. You need a steady, sensible man at your side when you take the crown, but steady and sensible doesn’t excite you. So what is a bored and spoilt princess to do when she craves excitement but find herself a dashing naval man to toy with?”

She couldn’t hold off the hurt this time. “Is that really what you think?” she asked in a small voice. 

Killian was relentless. “I think that I was content to worship you from afar, to be your devoted friend knowing that anything more than that would be forever beyond my grasp. But then you decided to play with me, to kiss me as though I belonged to you, and now any hope of contentment I once had is long gone.” His breath was hot against her cheek and she could smell his skin and she wanted so badly to touch him. “I think about you every day and dream about you every bloody night,” he murmured, so low she could barely hear him, “And all I want is for you to be out of my head. Out of my heart.” 

“I’m in your heart?” she whispered. 

“Don’t play coy, Emma. You know perfectly well how I feel about you.” 

She did. But she wanted to hear him say it. Wanted him to moan it against her bare skin. “Killian,” she whispered, leaning into him, but he pushed off the wall, away from her. 

“I told you, I won’t be your plaything. Find yourself another toy to alleviate your boredom.” 

He moved to go again but she caught his arm, clung like a burr. “I don’t want a toy,” she said. “Or a steady, sensible man by my side. I want the man I love, the one I’ve loved for years. I just want you, Killian.” He shook his head, denying her words, but she persisted. “Only you.” 

“Why even say that when you know it can never be,” he said hoarsely. “There can never be anything between us.” 

She knew that but she _hated_ it, hated him forcing her to accept it. “Do you love me?” she pressed. 

“You know I do.” 

“Then tell me. Please, I-- I just need to hear you say it.” 

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I love you Emma. So much.” She leaned closer again but he shook his head. “Too much to touch you and risk destroying that future that bores you so.” 

“Just a kiss,” she said softly. “Won’t you kiss me, just once more?” 

“I can’t, I--” 

“Please, Killian. If you’re going to throw me to the mercy of the steady, sensible men at least let me have one moment of excitement.” 

“Emma, I beg you, don’t ask this of me.” 

Her hands were gripping tightly on the sleeve of his uniform coat, her breasts pressed against his arm. She leaned into him and this time he did not pull back, allowing her to rest her forehead against his jaw. She could feel the conflict in him, his resistance wavering. “Please,” she whispered, easing closer. “Please.” 

He released a shaky breath and tilted his head downwards until his forehead lay against hers. She released his sleeve to slide her hand up his chest and cup the back of his head as his hand moved to her waist, splaying wide on the small of her back, pulling her closer. “One kiss,” he whispered, and then his lips were on hers. 

_Oh gods,_ thought Emma wildly, _It’s even better than before_. His hand came up to bury itself in her hair, tilting her head as he nudged her lips apart and _devoured_ her. Their first kiss had been tentative, exploring, Killian too unsure of what was happening to take what he truly wanted. 

This kiss was _fire_. It was passion and longing, born of a year of frustrated dreams that could never be realised. It was everything she’d ever wanted and also nothing at all, because they could never have this again. 

Desperately she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, vaguely registering that her back was against the wall again and Killian’s hand was on her bottom, pulling her hips tightly against his, pressing his hardness into the cradle of her thighs. It felt wonderful, _amazing_ , and Emma ground against him, heart racing and head spinning until she could barely think. 

“Make love to me,” she whispered against his lips. 

“No.” He rested his forehead on hers again, gasping for air, his hair chaotic from her fingers, his face flushed, his eyes nearly black. “One last kiss. That’s all we can have.” 

“But I want--” 

“Aye, love, as do I. I want nothing more than to touch you as you wish, to strip away your gown and worship you with my body, as you deserve to be worshipped.” She moaned at the image and he swayed towards her, his expression dazed and yearning. “But you know we can’t. You know that, don’t you darling?”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that wanted to form there, and nodded. “I know.” 

“I love you,” he said softly. “I always will. Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.” 

“But--” Emma struggled to think. “You’ll see me tomorrow--” 

“No, I leave at first light.” 

_“What?”_

“I’ve been promoted. Given command of my own ship.” He smiled, though his eyes were agony. “I volunteered her for a mission to the Endless Isles.” 

She gasped. “But that’s the other side of the world!” 

“Aye. We’ll be gone at least five years. By the time I return you will be married, to the steady and sensible man that you need, and perhaps with a babe or two of your own.” He swallowed hard, fingertips ghosting across her abdomen. “Promise me you’ll be happy, Emma. I need to know you’ll be happy.” 

She would be miserable, she wanted to scream, miserable and empty without him, but she couldn’t tell him that, not when his eyes reflected her own shattered heart. “I promise,” she choked around the tears she could no longer suppress. “I’ll be happy.” 

“Good.” He nodded, stepped back. She forced herself not to cling to him. 

His eyes burned into her as with a trembling hand he caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears with the softest brush of his thumb. “Goodbye, my love,” he whispered, then he turned away and was gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly intended for this to be a one-shot. BUT... I have never written an unhappy ending and immediately felt bad. Angst shouldn’t be for its own sake, it should come to something. It should make the relationship stronger when they come through it in the end. After all this is FANTASY and there’s enough pointless pain in the real world. SO, here is Chapter 2. Still angsty, but your hearts should be whole again by the end.

_“Killian’s a good man,” said Snow, cradling Emma close as she wept. “He did the right thing. You cannot marry him. To lie with him would have been reckless and irresponsible. What if you had become pregnant?”_

_“Y-you’re just worried about your d-damned alliances!” Emma sobbed, almost wishing she hadn’t confided in her mother. But the princess cannot cry for days on end without someone noticing, and when Snow came to investigate the tale had just poured out._

_“I am worried about them, and so should you be. War is coming, Emma, it’s all but inevitable at this point. If we’re to have any hope of victory we need a solid alliance forged by your marriage. There is no other way to protect our kingdom.”_

_“It's n-not fair!”_

_“No it isn’t.” Snow stroked Emma’s hair. “If I had my way you would be free to marry whom you wished, be it a naval lieutenant—“_

_“Captain. H-he’s a captain now.”_

_“—a naval captain or a prince or a farm labourer, if that was your choice. But these are desperate times, Emma, and we must all make sacrifices. Killian understands that. Do you?”_

\---

Emma blinked, shaking off the old memory, and returned her attention to the reflection in her dressing room mirror. Widening her eyes, she pressed her fingertips gently against the delicate skin beneath them. It was distressingly loose, baggy and bruised from lack of sleep and stress. Once her eyes had been bright and full of laughter, now worry lines spread from their corners and the frown between them seemed ever present. Killian had loved her eyes. What would he think if he could see them now? 

Soon she would find out. 

Six years to the day had passed since he’d left, years in which everything had changed, leaving Emma feeling she must now be unrecognisable to the pampered, naive girl she’d been. 

_(I love you. I always will. Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.)_

Was that still true for him, she wondered? As it was for her? 

A knock echoed through the chamber. 

“Enter,” she said, turning to face the door, smoothing her expression into the royal mask. 

It opened to admit a young page, who bowed deeply. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty. The council is waiting.” 

“Thank you. Please inform them I will be there momentarily.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

Emma smoothed her hair and her gown, and patted her face with a light puff of powder. There had been a time, not long since, when she would have had a dozen maids to take care of such things for her, but times were very different now. 

She walked briskly down the long corridor to the council chamber and nodded to the footmen who guarded the heavy double doors. In perfect unison they swung the doors open and announced: “Her Majesty, Queen Emma!” 

Emma entered the chamber and nodded at her ministers, seating herself in her chair and gesturing for them to do the same. 

“Gentlemen,” she said. “What have you to report?”

The Minister of the Interior ostentatiously cleared his throat. “The _Jewel of the Realm_ returned early this morning, Your Majesty,” he said. “Sooner than anticipated. The rest of the ships in the fleet are a week or two behind. Admiral Jones has been debriefed and will make his report to you at a private audience this afternoon.” 

Emma kept her face calm and her breathing measured, but her fingernails dug dark red gouges into the skin of her arms. 

_He’s back. He’s back. He’s here._

“Is there a reason he couldn’t be present for this meeting?” she asked, pleased that her voice came out calm and steady. 

The Interior looked at a spot just above her left shoulder. “He is at present with the Court surgeons,” he said. 

“The _surgeons?!_ ”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will leave the admiral to supply the details, but in short the war on the seas is over. Our navy won a decisive battle against the Dark One’s forces and they are defeated. But at a great cost in men and ships. The _Jewel,_ as the fastest of the surviving vessels, carried the wounded home while the able-bodied took charge of the others. Admiral Jones commanded her, but he was --ahem-- he was also among the wounded.” 

_Breathe, Emma!_ she commanded herself. _He’s alive. He’s home_. 

“Thank you, Minister. Please send Admiral Jones to see me as soon as he is able. Now, what news of our ground forces?”

\---

Emma sat in her private study, tapping her foot against the floor as she waited, thinking about Killian. So much had happened since she’d seen him last: the plague, the war, her parents’ deaths, and Baelfire’s. Her kingdom’s population decimated, its land ravaged. The adjoining kingdoms, their ancient allies, broken on the same wheel. 

She loved Killian, had never for a moment stopped loving him, but she was no longer the girl he’d known. And if her experiences these past six years had changed her beyond recognition, what must his own have done to him? 

What began as a straightforward diplomatic mission to the Endless Isles had ended four years later in the bloodiest sea battle ever fought, one that took his brother’s life along with the lives of most of the navy’s senior command. Killian, according to the reports carried by her mother’s messenger birds, had singlehandedly rallied the remaining men and ships back into a disciplined fleet, and led them in pursuit of their attackers. King David’s last official act before the plague took his life had been to promote him to Admiral, the youngest in the long history of Misthaven’s navy. How much of her Killian would be left in this fierce man he had become? How much could possibly remain?

A knock sounded at the door, and Emma took several deep breaths to calm her pounding heart. “Enter.” 

The door swung open and Killian stood before her, an older, harder version of him but still as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered, still turning her blood to fire with his mere presence. For the briefest moment his eyes blazed with emotion, but then he bowed deeply to her and when he stood upright again his face was impassive. 

“Your Majesty,” he said. 

_Gods_ , thought Emma. _His voice is still the same._ She should know, she heard it regularly in her dreams. 

“Admiral Jones,” she managed to say. “Please take a seat.” She indicated the chair opposite her own and Killian approached, sitting himself down with some difficulty. He laid his hands in his lap and Emma noticed that the left one was heavily bandaged. 

“My ministers inform me that the war is all but won,” she said. “And that we have you to thank for this.” 

“It _is_ won, Your Majesty,” he replied. “The Dark One’s forces have been destroyed, his fleet is gone. And I am just one of many men responsible for this.” 

“Modesty? That’s not like you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them, needling him as she used to do. Perhaps some things hadn’t changed. 

He smiled, reluctantly to be sure, but his mouth curved upwards and humour flashed in his eyes. “I dare say much about me has changed since the last time we spoke,” he said. He looked at her penetratingly, blue eyes missing nothing. “And about you as well, if you’ll permit me saying so, my Queen.” 

“Of course, and you are correct.” More so than he knew. 

He shifted towards her, then caught himself and sat back, squaring his shoulders. “I was sorry to hear about your parents,” he said gruffly. “I admired them greatly.” 

“Thank you.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat that still formed when she thought of them.

“And also,” he cleared his own throat, “Your fiancé.” 

“Yes.” She didn’t want to talk about Baelfire. Didn’t want to talk about how hard she’d tried to keep her promise to Killian, to be happy. How she’d thought maybe, _maybe_ she might actually be able to please everyone, to find happiness with the Dark One’s son and secure a crucial alliance, to do her duty to Killian and her parents both. How Bae’s death from plague the week before their wedding had ripped both those things away, violently and all at once. “And your brother,” she replied, deflecting. “He is sorely missed.” 

“Aye.” He laughed lightly, but there was no humour in it. “Far too many good people have been lost.” 

“Yes.” They sat silently for a moment, remembering. 

It was Killian who broke the silence. “After the battle I turned the _Jewel of the Realm_ into a hospital ship,” he said. “To transport the wounded home as quickly as possible. Shipboard medicine is rather rough and ready, as I’m sure you can imagine, though I would like to recommend Doctor Victor Whale for a commendation. He kept many more men alive than should have survived.”

“I’ll see that it’s done.” 

“There are many-- many posthumous commendations and medals I would also like to recommend.” Anger darkened his face. “It’s bloody pointless, of course, this pomp and ceremony for men who are dead, but if it helps their families…” 

She longed to hug him, wrap him tightly in her arms and soothe his pain away. “Leave a list of your recommendations with my steward,” she said gently. “I will ensure that your men are properly honoured. It is the very least we can do for their sacrifice.” 

He nodded. “Thank you. The remainder of the fleet should arrive in a week or so. There are… five ships remaining.” 

“Five!” Five out of a fleet of thirty. 

“Aye.” 

Emma resisted the urge to rub the tension from her temples, reminding herself that for any ships to survive against the Dark One’s seemingly invincible forces was a near miraculous thing, that defeating him was all that mattered, whatever the cost. 

She wondered if she would be able to remember that if Killian had died. 

“Five is far better than none,” she said after a long pause, not missing the way Killian’s shoulders relaxed at her words. “We’ll rebuild.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

“Thank _you,_ Admiral. Is there anything further?”

“Just one thing.” He reached up to rub at a spot behind his right ear, and Emma was both relieved that he still did that and also wanted to _weep_. “I wish to resign my commission.” 

“Resign it!” 

“Aye.” He held up his left arm with a wry grimace. “Our fleet was not the only thing the Dark One nearly destroyed. We succeeded in ending that demon but in the battle my hand was irreparably damaged. It had to be amputated.” 

“But… how are… don’t you need… are you _okay?_ ” She could kick herself for the inane question, but there was warmth in his eyes when he smiled in response. 

“As well as can be. Whale performed some sorcery, I’ve no notion what, and the wound closed with remarkable speed. The palace surgeons believe it will be fully healed in a month or so. But that doesn’t change the fact that the hand is gone and without it I can be of little use to the navy.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true--”

“Please Em-- Your Majesty.” He flushed at his slip, but pressed on. “I have been through… rather a lot in the past years and I don’t especially care for what it’s made of me. I need to make a change, before I become a person I can no longer stand.”

The urge to weep returned, stronger than ever. “I understand,” she whispered. “I accept your resignation.” 

He nodded, swallowed, cleared his throat. “Thank you. I-- that’s all I have to report.” He rose from his chair, bowed to her, and turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when she called out “Admiral!” 

He turned, and what she saw in his eyes stole her breath. “Where will you go?”

“I’m staying in the palace until the fleet returns, to ensure all goes smoothly. I won’t officially resign until a replacement can be found, and after that… I don’t know. Something else.” 

“If there’s anything you need,” _if you need me_ “please let me know.” 

His eyes blazed and for the briefest moment she thought he might break. But then he opened the door. “I will,” he replied, and he was gone. 

\---

Emma couldn’t sleep. She was antsy and anxious and could think of nothing but Killian. 

_(I’ve put Admiral Jones in the Rose Suite,” her steward had told her that afternoon, and Emma had concealed the pounding of her heart as she thanked him.)_

The Rose Suite. Just around the corner from her own chambers. He was so close. _So close._

She felt herself throw back the covers and toss a shawl over her thin linen nightgown. Her feet carried her out of her bedroom and down the corridor, around the corner to Killian’s door, and her hand rose to knock before she could stop it. There was a shuffling noise then it swung open and Killian stood before her, wearing his uniform trousers and nothing else. 

“Emma!” he gasped in surprise. “Er-- Your Majesty.” 

“No. Emma. It’s always Emma to you. Killian, I--” She paused, unsure of what to say. There was so much she wished to tell him, so much that needed to be said between them, but the words tumbled in her mind and caught in her throat and all she could manage was to grab hold of his shoulders, stand on her toes, and kiss him. 

His arms came around her instantly, his mouth hot and insistent on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself as tightly to him as she could, vaguely aware that he had shut the door behind them and pressed her up against it. Her thin nightgown was no barrier at all and she could feel his chest hair against her nipples and the hardness between his legs, swelling against her _almost_ where she needed it to be. She shifted, lifted her leg, desperate to get closer, and he curled his hand around her thigh and hoisted her up so she could lock her legs around his waist as he ground against her, rubbing himself against her most sensitive spot, the _perfect_ spot, until she feared she might burst from the pleasure roaring through her. 

She broke their kiss, gasping as Killian’s mouth immediately found her neck, trailing kisses down it as she dug her fingernails into the hard muscle of his shoulders and moaned. 

“Killian... oh, gods... I love you..” 

He froze at her words, and she cursed herself as his mouth left her neck and he leaned his head on the door behind her. She could hear his ragged breathing and the words he barely whispered. “I love you too, Emma. _Damn_ it!” 

He gently unhooked her legs from around his waist and set her on her feet before stepping back, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“For what?” she nearly snarled, as frustration replaced lust. “ _I_ kissed _you!_ ”

“But I-- I had almost no control--” 

“I wish you’d had none,” she retorted. “That’s twice now I’ve made a move and you refused to follow through. It shouldn’t be this godsdamned difficult to get myself ravished by a man who claims to love me.” 

“It’s precisely _because_ I love you that I can’t ravish you, surely you see that?” he snarled back. “Emma, much has changed these six years, but one thing remains unaltered. You are royalty and I am not.” 

“What does that _matter_ anymore?” she cried in exasperation. “The kingdoms are shattered, Killian, the old guard is gone. Almost anyone who ever cared about protocol or marriage alliances is dead. Those of us who survive must make our own way into a new world and we can make our own rules for how to live there. I doubt at this juncture if anyone will do much more than raise an eyebrow at the Queen of Misthaven marrying her navy’s most decorated admiral, the war hero responsible for her kingdom even having a navy.”

He smiled faintly, almost shyly. “Marrying?”

“Yes.” she said fiercely. “ _Marrying_. Why does that surprise you? I never stopped loving you, every day of these six years I have thought of you, and prayed to every god I could find to bring you home safely. So yes, _of course_ I want to marry you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

With a sharp tug he pulled her back into his arms, squeezing her tightly, his face in her hair. “I want that too,” he said. “So bloody much. If you’re sure--” 

“I’m the damn Queen, I can do as I please,” she declared. “Who’s going to tell me I can’t? Our allies will support us now because they must, there is no other choice. We all need each other if we’re to rebuild our lands. And there is no one I would rather have at my side as we do that than you, my love.” She pulled back slightly to look at him, at the tears glimmering in his eyes, as they did in her own. “You said once that I needed a steady and sensible man and that is what I intend to have, youngest-admiral-in-history-Jones.” 

He choked a laugh, and pulled her close again. “I’m hardly steady or sensible, love, I have a dreadful temper and I-- I’ve done some awful things. Things you might not be able to forgive.”

“I forgive you already.”

“How can you? You don’t know--” 

“I don’t need to know, unless you wish to tell me. I know _you,_ and that’s enough.” 

“You might not know me anymore,” he said quietly. “The things I’ve seen and done, they’ve changed me. I’m not the boy you knew.” 

She shook her head, hearing his version of her own concerns fall from his lips. “That doesn’t change how I feel,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. “I’m not the girl you knew. Does that mean you no longer love me?”

His eyes roamed her face and he brushed her hair back from it, his thumb tracing the fine lines around her eyes. “If anything I love you more,” he said softly, “Seeing how strong you are, how you kept the kingdom together through one tragedy after another. You’ve become the most extraordinary woman.” 

She flushed at the praise. “You’re extraordinary too.”

“I’m not--” 

“You _are_. No one else could have commanded the fleet as you did. No one else could have defeated the Dark One. I’m so proud of you, Killian. Of everything you’ve done.” 

He made a choked noise and pulled her close again, kissing her deeply, desperately, lifting her up and carrying her to his bed. He laid her gently on the mattress and looked down at her, his eyes brimming with wonder and lust and _hope_. She smiled. 

“Does this mean you accept my proposal? You’ll marry me?”

“I will marry you. But first--” He grinned, his old, wicked grin that made her stomach flutter and her heart soar. “First I will ravish you. Thoroughly.” 

Their kingdom lay in ruins, the life they had known gone forever. But for the first time in years Emma felt confident that they could be rebuilt, better and stronger than ever before. They would rebuild it, she and Killian. _Together._

She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulled him down atop her. “It’s about damn time,” she said.


End file.
